


a revelation and a half

by esmeraldablazingsky



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Finduilas Is Gil-galad, Fluff, Gen, Injury, or is it hurt/comfort? who knows, ’take care of yourself’ —elrond peredhel (known hypocrite on this subject)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/pseuds/esmeraldablazingsky
Summary: Gil-galad is injured, and he’sdefinitelyhiding something. Elrond can and will find out.





	a revelation and a half

The second thing Elrond did upon returning to camp was seek out Gil-galad. The first had been to visit the healers’ tent and help out there, and originally, Elrond had expected to see Gil-galad there anyway, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“Have you seen Gil-galad?” he asked the assistant healer. “I thought he’d be here.” 

“No. Why?” she asked in return. “Was he hurt?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I only watched him get thrown halfway across the battlefield by a blow to the chest,” said Elrond, perhaps a little more sharply than he meant to. 

“Go find him,” said the assistant immediately. “We’re alright here, don’t worry.” 

“Are you s—”

“Lord Elrond, this was a decisive victory. Injuries are low. We’re fine, I promise.” 

It would have taken more to pull Elrond away from the tent, but Gil-galad was somewhere in the camp not getting treatment for what had to have been a nasty wound, and so Elrond thanked the assistant healer and hurried off. 

“What,” he said, shoving open Gil-galad’s tent flap, “are you doing outside the healers’ area?”

Gil-galad whipped around from where he’d been standing, facing away from the entrance and removing the outer layers of his clothing. His armor— dented, Elrond noted— was in a neat pile next to his cot. 

The movement was accompanied by a yelp of pain and then a look of quickly hidden guilt, like when Elros had been caught stealing the training weapons as a child. 

“Um,” said Gil-galad, “relaxing? We won the battle, after all. Am I not entitled to a little time to myself?” 

“Normally, yes. But you’re moving gingerly,” said Elrond. “Like perhaps you should be doing a little more than just relaxing. You’re injured. I am your healer. Let me see.” 

Gil-galad backed up, away from Elrond, and the edge of his cot hit his knees. He collapsed onto it with a sharp hiss and a wince. 

“I’m fine,” he said. Elrond gave him the most witheringly disbelieving stare he could muster, under which even Nelyafinwë Maitimo had been known to wilt a little bit. 

“Really, Elrond,” said Gil-galad, although he had the grace to look slightly chastened. “It’s nothing I can’t heal from myself, with a little time. Don’t trouble yourself with me.” 

“I  _ saw _ you take a direct hit from a troll-club, which is nothing you should be ignoring. Your breastplate is a mess, for the Valar’s sake.” 

“Yes, and I am lucky I was wearing it, or the spikes would have done me in,” said Gil-galad lightly. 

“The blunt force was enough,” said Elrond. “I have seen it before. You must have at  _ least _ a few broken ribs.” 

He reached for Gil-galad’s shoulder to pull him closer, but Gil-galad flinched away as if he had been burned. 

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “There may be a few fractures, but I will take care of them myself. I have already put too much pressure and responsibility on you.” 

“And you’re going to add to your  _ own _ pressure and responsibility?” asked Elrond. “You are already High King. Besides, this is my job.” 

“I’ll take care of it myself,” repeated Gil-galad. “Please, Elrond.” 

Elrond was beginning to truly worry. Not that he hadn’t been concerned before, but this was different than the usual frustratingly blithe but calculated and well-intentioned recklessness. Gil-galad had never had such a reaction to gentle touch before, especially not from Elrond, who he trusted with everything. 

Or almost everything, apparently. Elrond was silent for a few seconds as he tried to work out what in the world was going on. There was a spark of genuine and unfamiliar panic in Gil-galad’s eyes, and he wondered what could possibly have caused it. 

Elrond had never seen Gil-galad without a shirt on, he realized. Not while training on sweltering summer days, not while swimming, not ever. He met Gil-galad’s eyes. 

“I know you are hiding something from me,” he said. 

“Why would I ever— I trust you, Elrond,” said Gil-galad. “Please don’t begin to think that I don’t. It’s just—”

“I know you trust me,” said Elrond. “But for whatever reason, not with this. It’s not my business, or it wouldn’t be, except that you are hurt because of it and  _ I need you to show me.” _

He watched Gil-galad bite the inside of his lip and sigh, wincing as the movement shifted at his ribs. 

“I suppose I would eventually have told you anyway,” said Gil-galad. 

“I won’t abandon you, whatever secret you have been keeping,” said Elrond. “I only ask you to allow me to help.” 

“You are more than I have ever deserved,” said Gil-galad with a melancholy half-smile. “It’s not that I don’t want you to know. I do. I want to know you, and let you know me in return, but it’s been… long, since I told anyone.” 

He made as if to pull his tunic over his head, then winced. 

“I may need a hand,” he said, forcing a grin and looking up at Elrond. 

“Finally, you admit it,” said Elrond. Gil-galad laughed, then cried out in pain. 

“Ouch,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Okay, go for it.” Elrond helped Gil-galad remove his shirt, trying not to let his worry spike too much at the way Gil-galad shivered and automatically twisted away from his gaze, and then paused. 

“Oh,” he said, but the surprise only lasted a fraction of a second. “A bound chest is not the most shocking thing I have ever seen, you know. And I’m far less worried about that than the bruising and the fractures.” 

“Objectively, maybe,” conceded Gil-galad. “But as I said, it has been long.” 

Gil-galad winced as Elrond began healing his wounds, then turned to look at him. 

“I suppose I should explain.” 

“You don’t have to,” said Elrond. He glanced up at the expression on Gil-galad’s face, then added, “But if you wish to, I will listen, and keep your secrets safe.” 

“Thank you,” murmured Gil-galad. “It isn’t much of a secret, really, if you think about it.” 

“But it’s important to you?”

“Well, yes,” admitted Gil-galad. “I am not actually Ereinion Gil-galad, son of Orodreth. I am Finduilas Faelivrin, daughter of Orodreth, and I don’t believe I was ever meant to be High King.” For a moment, her eyes flashed more blue than grey, and the gold in her hair caught Elrond’s eye. 

“Why not?” asked Elrond. He drew back and let Gil-galad pull her shirt back on. 

“This,” said Gil-galad. “Would a true High King really go around being hit by trolls? Or shot, or stabbed by Orcs, or…” she sighed. “I need help.” 

“That’s why I’m here,” said Elrond dryly. Gil-galad managed a tired smile. 

“You were brought to me at first so that I could protect you, so I have to object, but… thank you,” she said. She made as if to continue, but Elrond stopped her. 

“Don’t say it,” he said. 

“What?” asked Gil-galad. 

“Anything along the lines of not deserving my help,” said Elrond. Gil-galad narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You’re one to talk,” she said. “Fine. I won’t. But I can at least express my gratitude to you, for now and forever.” 

“For what, making sure your bones set right this time? That’s the duty of a healer, and none of your people would shirk it, myself included.” 

“For listening,” said Gil-galad. She sighed and crossed her arms, setting her shoulders in a way that Elrond recognized as uncomfortable and guilt-ridden. “I should have known that if anyone would take this so well, it would be you. I’m sorry I made things so difficult.” 

“What do you mean?” Elrond started to ask, then stopped, having found that he already knew. 

“Ereinion— Finduilas— if you must fight me before you’ll let me help you, I’ll do that. As many times as it takes.”

“I’m touched,” said Gil-galad with the ghost of a smile. “You know I’d do the same for you.” 

“You’d do anything for anyone. It’s almost a problem.” 

“Again, you’re one to talk,” said Gil-galad, before seeming to come to a realization. 

“Speaking of,” she said, “you aren’t hurt, are you? If you’ve been ignoring injuries of your own, I’ll be… well, there’s no point in trying to tell you I’d be angry. Just worried and exasperated. Oh, and I’d call you a hypocrite.” 

“That’s almost worse,” said Elrond with a quick grin. “No, I was unharmed.”

“Good to hear,” said Gil-galad. “Still. You must be tired.” 

“Oh, please—”

“If you’re going to fight me into letting you care for me, be prepared for the same,” said Gil-galad. 

“You know,” said Elrond, “you may say you are not Gil-galad, but… that doesn’t change anything, does it?” 

Gil-galad considered that, and Elrond watched her tilt her head to the side, a familiar sparkle in her grey-blue eyes that he knew meant an imminent smile. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “It does not. I am still your Ereinion.” And Elrond had guessed correctly— she broke into a broad grin and beckoned him to sit beside her. 

“So you’re still going to be a stubborn pain when it comes to accepting help?” 

“Probably. Sorry,” said Gil-galad. 

“You don’t look very sorry,” said Elrond. 

“Neither do you, when it’s your turn,” retorted Gil-galad. “You really are just as bad as I am, my dear. But,” she said, putting an arm around Elrond and smiling as he leaned into her side, “it’s alright. That is what we have companionship for.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i love them and their dynamic, please and thank you


End file.
